


Newscast

by mrs_schoolweek



Series: Short Stories from Fallout Universe [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crack, Galaxy News Radio, Gen, Humor, Worldbuilding, or breaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 15:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10165694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_schoolweek/pseuds/mrs_schoolweek
Summary: How do news reach Three Dog so quickly? Why does Fallout 3 constantly bug? These questions and more are answered when the fourth wall -breaking Storyteller and their acquaintance, ghoul Mama unapologetically interfere with the radio host's pleasant day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that's Mama from 50 Shades of Decay. What? She can have gratuitous spin offs if she wants.

"Oh." Mama tilted her head and glimpsed at the Reader's (that's you) direction.  
"I noticed you're reading this in AO3, isn't that right, dear?"  
(Yes, this indeed is the slightly edited repost from a kink meme fill, Mama. A good observation. That's why we're talking about "prompts", "fills" and such in the story. Thanks on the Reader's behalf.)  
"It's nothing. Now have fun, sweetheart."

"Hello again, dear. This is Mama calling, please pick up." The undead, unappealing growl shivered on radio waves like a living thing. Three Dog almost fell from his chair and pulled off his headphones. Damn he hated it when she did that.  
"That ain't helping, my boy. Just put them back on. You know how disturbing it can be if I keep talking you like this."  
The man shrugged and put his headphones back on. Mama was right. Being the Storyteller's pet apparently had it's advantages: she didn't really need the radio to call him.  
"Three Dog here, aroow! Happy now, Mama?"  
"That's good, dear. Very good. You see that nice-looking person right there, reading at us? She/he/they has made a prompt on Fallout Kink Meme, and asked for my help to talk to you," the ghoulette chuckled.  
(Actually, Mama, she/he/they asked for my help. I'm the Storyteller, remember?)  
"Storyteller? To Three Dog right here you are a creepy being from the fourth dimension, dear. Let me talk to him, he'll feel much more relaxed."  
(Yeah, sure. A 230-year-old, disturbingly intimate ghoul radio host chatting with the storyteller is so much more relaxing.)

"Sorry about the fuss, darling. I'm calling you because some people have asked just delicious questions about your news broadcasts, Doggy", Mama snickered. She fucking loved the kink meme, since it served her voyeurism so well.  
"News broadcasts? That's what radio is supposed to be about, right? Music and current topics. You know that, Mama. You have your own station", Three Dog laughed. He had been worried already this would be... "The other kind of prompt."  
"I know what news are, Doggy. The question is, how do you get yours? Come on, don't be shy now: the reader wants to know."  
"But that's where the magic is, Mama! I can't tell you that. If they knew it while playing the game... It would ruin the entire experience", the man rationalized. He was discreet (and I mean really discreet) about his sources.  
"You're asking for it, my boy. You answer these nice youngsters' question or Mama makes a hot sauce -prompt."  
"I'll answer these nice youngsters' question, miss Mama."

"First things first, Doggy. The reader wants to know, how you get all the news so quickly", Mama told with her raspy, broken voice. Three Dog shivered. As if going trough the fourth wall wasn't weird enough, she sounded alarmingly amused.  
"That much is easy to tell. There are dozens of low-power radio transmitters in the Capital Wasteland. After the dish got installed, it's been a piece of cake to pick up their signals", the man answered, hoping the answer would be enough. Of course it wasn't.  
"Radio transmitters don't use themselves, my boy. The question is: who are the people who use the transmitters to tell you the news?"  
"Fellow citizens believing in freedom of speech. You know I'm not supposed to tell you, Mama", Three Dog tried. His tone had grown desperate. Showing what was behind the stage would break integrity of the game reality.  
"I understand, dear, but I'm afraid the Storyteller might not be as patient. Names. Now. Remember hot sauce, Doggy."  
(That's just plain mean, Mama. You know I would be patient, you're just scaring him.)  
"Absolutely, dear."

"Harkness from Rivet city. Snowflake from Underworld. Nova from Megaton..."   
"Why them?" Mama interrupted the man's list.  
"They hear all the rumors. Isn't that obvious? Who listens to twaddle all day long? Security personnel, bar workers and barbers of course. They love tho share all the filthiest secrets", Three Dog told, proud of his invention. It had been easiest task on his career to make them talk.  
"That sounds better already. Maybe we're getting closer to detergent with every word you speak", Mama purred. Three Dog gulped.  
"Detergent? I was hoping for something more like hand lotion."  
"Better keep talking then. Town telltales can't be the only explanation. I mean, the reader knows how fast your news can be, Doggy."

"Well... I have agents- I mean freelancer observers around the DC. They might report me if the player does something interesting", Three Dog admitted after a painfully long while of thinking.  
"And they are especially centered on the player's actions?", the ghoulette asked.  
"Yes, of course. His/Hers/Their satisfaction and the whole hero- or villain experience is a key point of the game. Player wouldn't keep coming back if he/she/they didn't feel special", Three Dog explained, pride in his tone. He felt keeping up the player's battle morale was very much his responsibility.  
"Good boy, Doggy. Now their names. How do they do it? Are they hiding? Can the player notice them somehow?" Mama demanded. She actually liked the man but anonymous kink meme prompter's request was her mission today. Kindness could wait.  
"I really, really, really shouldn't tell, Mama! Please. They'll feel absolutely bizarre playing if I tell. It breaks the fucking logic of it all!", Three Dog begged.  
"Sorry, boy, but we're breaking that already. Breathe, close your eyes and think about detergent for a while, will you? Want to tell yet?"  
"Yes, miss Mama."

" You... You know those Enclave bastards, right? And Talons?" Three Dog mumbled.  
"They might sometimes... Report to me from time to time", he admitted. Damn, that sounded bad.  
"And why is that, Doggy? What about the Good Fight?" Mama laughed.   
"Well... It works both ways, you know. Their logic is that when they announce to the world where the Lone Wanderer roams, it... Kinda attracts all the possible bad guys to the right place. And more bad guys equals higher chances to villain the shit out of the player", the man admitted with a gulp. He would get killed in so many play throughs...  
"What is the other way, then?" Mama asked, curious.   
"Well, isn't that obvious? I get more news, player gets more content ant experience points. Leveling him/her/them up before the last main story quests serves the whole Wasteland. See, it's for the common good", Three Dog told her, hoping that the altruism card would help.  
"You know what's for the common good? Your sweet little ass, if you won't tell Mama the whole truth", the ghoulette growled. She sure sounded too happy about that.  
(Mama, he's not your toy. Concentrate on the task.)

"Okay, okay. I'm probably a dead man already and you'll make me tell anyway. Have you ever noticed something a little... Weird? During the game, I mean?" the man asked, looking at you, reader.  
(Could you be a little more specific? They can't answer you directly.)  
"Like... Radscorpions stuck to the ground? Feral ghouls that don't seem too interested in the player? Doors that can't be picked?"  
Mama emitted a laughter so creepy Three Dog almost wet himself.   
"Boy, you don't say you are having people out there, dressed as doors and feral ghouls, do you?!"  
Three Dog shivered. This was exactly what terrified him. It was so damn wrong....  
(Mama, go easy on him. "Fourth wall down" isn't easy for NPC's.)  
"All right, boy. Relax, tell Mama everything from the start and I promise you hand soap", the ghoulette whispered. Three Dog sighed.  
"Very well. I'll tell. Just... In the next part?"  
(Sounds good. Catch your breath for a while, buddy.)

"There is a department in Brotherhood of Steel, which recruits citizens for... I guess the correct term would be "unconventional field operations"", Three Dog announced with a sigh:  
"That means... Well, unconventional things that don't require a Brotherhood-trained professionals. Like suicide bombing, strippers, spying in disguise and radio hosts."   
"You work for Brotherhood? I thought you always talked about free media and freedom of speech? But yes, I've suspected such possibility" Mama told, not actually too surprised.  
"Well, not directly. It's more like a subsidiary: as long as I don't jump into the Enclave Party Wagon, (no idea what that is,) I'm my own boss. The Brotherhood just supplies me with observers", the man admitted. Heck, it didn't sound as bad as he'd thought. He might actually...  
"Supplies? You make it sound like buying consumable goods", Mama wondered. Three Dog gulped.  
"I wouldn't say "consumable", it's more like "noble and heroic"..." he muttered.   
"That, my boy, is the official phrase for "expendable pieces of meat dying like rats"", the ghoulette whispered, making the man wonder if he was "expendable piece of meat" as well.   
(Mama, you're making him nuts! Just ask about his spies or he freaks out completely. Look at him: he's all sweaty and shivery.)

"Okay, Doggy. Easy now. I ask you a question and you answer it. If you answer well, Mama's going to be happy and reward you, okay?"  
"Okay, Mama", Three Dog huffed. No point fighting it: she'd get what she wanted anyway.  
"How many spies do you have out there, Doggy?", Mama asked.  
"I do not know the exact number, miss Mama. My best estimation would be somewhere around three hundred", the man told her.  
"Three hundred? So, they are expendable pieces of meat, right?" She had no mercy.  
"No-one would say it like that, Mama. Please, try to show some respect... Those brave men, women, ghouls and other mutated creatures are dying out there, for the Good Fight!" Three Dog answered, trying to sound really convincing.  
"I ask, you answer", Mama growled:  
"Now, how do your spies die for "the Good Fight", Doggy?"  
"They get confused with real enemies from time to time. I mean, a fellow in a radscorpion suit, stuck to ground... That's a painfully appealing target, right? Their disguise is just so good..."  
"The player kills your spies, right Doggy? That would be hilarious if it wasn't so sad", Mama roadkill-giggled.  
(To the reader and me, that actually is very funny. From our perspective you are fictional beings after all.)  
"Even me? I thought I was special to you, storyteller. I'm your non-generic ghoul OC. Come on, admit it. I'm your favorite", Mama said, trying to sound hurt.  
(Sure you are, Mama. But if you don't get back to the questions, some hot sauce might...)

"In which disguises are your spies operating out there, Doggy-boy?", Mama asked, more submissive this time.  
"There are over fifty possible outfits. I mean, the most common ones are: a mirelurk running around, a bugging feral ghoul in a corner, a stuck radscorpion, a fallen bookshelf and a pile of concrete, but..." Three Dog was interrupted by the ghoulette again.  
"I get it, all right. Are there any disguises that wouldn't include being stepped on and/or shot multiple times?" she asked. It seemed hard to fight a laughter.  
"What? I mean, those are way less threatening than things that come straight away to fight you! But sure, there are plenty of those", Three Dog told her.  
"Name ten of those, then", Mama decided.  
"Fine, sure. A trash can, a dead guy in a cave, a motorcycle that won't catch fire or blow up even if something explodes near it, a shaky dead brahmin's ass, an unopening door and... Yeah, a dead tree. That's pretty much all", Three Dog admitted.  
"So the forty four others are things you shoot at, right?"  
"Well... Pretty much, yes. Damn, we should have counted that way earlier. It would have saved the Brotherhood..."  
(Nine thousand four hundred sixty seven caps and a bottle of whiskey.)

"We're really close to that lotion now, my boy. When there spies of yours have gathered the information you need, how do they send it back?" Mama asked, almost gently.  
"Well, you know... There's this little device called "type-pal". It was originally sold as an add-on for Pip-boy. It... Kinda sends short typed messages to radio receivers", the man muttered.   
"And how does this little device send those messages then, my boy?", Mama questioned. It couldn't be that all the spies had their own Pip-boys.  
"It... Uses the player's Pip-boy from short distances, miss Mama", Three Dog almost sobbed.  
"And why on earth doesn't the player send his/her/their own messages then?"  
"Because... Because damn, I really need some engineer or someone to look at all these systems. I'm just a radio host NPC, Mama! I really don't know!" he broke into tears.  
(Mama, I think you might have broken him. Can you fix him?)  
"I'm sure it's just a bug. We can reload our last save and he'll be fine", Mama promised.  
(That was in the beginning of the fill, Mama. Okay, what about this: we leave him like this, get the hell out of the Kink meme and leave the reader fix things? Maybe they can do the hand lotion prompt and make him feel better.)  
"Sounds good to me. Have fun with the Doggy-boy, reader. Mama out."


End file.
